AN ADVENTURE WITH BALL HUGHES, COMMONLY CALLED "THE GOLDEN BALL"—A SENSATION AT DARTFORD—A RELIC OF THE COMMUNE—RAILWAYS—PIONEERS OF THE RAIL—INTRODUCTION OF STEAM-CARRIAGES ON ROADS—SEDAN CHAIRS—PADDY'S PRACTICAL JOKE—FEUDS BETWEEN CHAIRMEN AND HACKNEY-COACHMEN.

CHAPTER XVII.

An adventure which occurred to me some fifty years ago may not here be out of place. I was dining one day with Ball Hughes, commonly, from his wealth, called "The Golden Ball," when the conversation turned upon Paris.

"What say you to going there?" he asked.

"I should like it much," I replied.

"Send for Guy," continued he, addressing the butler; "and help yourself to claret, we shall not have much time to spare."

Before I could express my surprise, Guy, the coachman, entered the room.

"Have the travelling-chariot with the four bays round in half-an-hour, and send the seats and imperial into my room to be packed. By the way," he proceeded, turning to me, "you will want some one to go and tell your servant to bring your clothes, we shall return in a week."

"Are you in earnest?" I inquired, somewhat taken aback at this hasty movement.

"Quite," he answered; "pass the bottle; and, John, take the small front imperial to Lord William's lodgings in Pall Mall, tell his servant to pack it up, and we will call for it on our way."

In half-an-hour the carriage was at the door; we took our seats, the faithful valet ascended the rumble, and the order was given,

"Make the best of your way to Dartford, call as you go by at No. 4, Pall Mall."

It was a lovely evening in July, and despite of having all the windows down we felt greatly oppressed with heat.

"What say you to riding?" inquired my companion; "pull up, boys."

"I am not in trim for riding," I replied, "with these thin white trousers, shoes, and silk stockings; my legs will be awfully chafed."

"Never mind, my good fellow, we will go as slow as you please, and you shall have your choice, short or long traces."

The postilions had alighted, and, having borrowed their whips, we exchanged places, and in less time than I can describe it the Golden Ball was mounted on a high-stepping thoroughbred leader, while I was piloting two as handsome wheelers as ever trotted their twelve miles an hour.

No event worthy of record occurred upon the road. It is true that the pole occasionally reminded my brother postilion that the traces were slack, that we grazed a carrier's cart upon entering Deptford, that we frightened an itinerant vendor of apples and pears as we dashed over Blackheath, and, finally, that we upset a one-horse chaise standing in the High Street of the town identified with Pigou and gunpowder.

As we drove up to the door of the "Bull Inn" we found, to our great horror, a crowd assembled in front of it.

"Pull up!" I bellowed at the top of my voice. "I can't," responded my friend.

"Then turn in down the yard. Take a good sweep, or we shall upset the carriage."

We did turn in with no greater damage than carrying away a wooden post, breaking a lamp, rubbing a piece of skin off the near leader, and tearing his rider's Hessian boot.

A cheer was then heard from the assembled crowd. We jumped off our horses, gave them up to the two postilions, who had hastily descended from the carriage, and made our way to the entrance, where the landlord, landlady, waiter, and ostler stood, looking as much astonished as the inhabitants of Edmonton did when Johnny Gilpin made his appearance in that town. Unfortunately Cowper was not with us to immortalise our adventure.

"Can we have four horses immediately?" asked Ball Hughes, in his blandest manner.

"The packet starts early for Calais."

"First and second turn out!" shouted the ostler, while mine host could scarcely repress a smile.

An Éclaircissement took place when it appeared that Queen Caroline, the ill-fated wife of the Fourth George, had been expected; that some Dartford Paul Pry had caught a view of the gold embroidered velvet jackets and caps of the postilions, and had given the signal for the cheers, mistaking the inmates of the carriage for at least Lord Hood in his Chamberlain's dress, Sir Matthew Wood in his Aldermanic gown, or Her Majesty herself decked out in Royal attire. Finding we could not reach Dover in time for the boat to Calais we stopped for the night at the "Rose," Sittingbourne.

I have already referred to the French omnibus; and it may not be here out of place to record an instance of the light-heartedness of our Continental neighbours, who instead of erasing a most painful episode in the history of their country from their minds, appear to perpetuate it, as will be seen by the following statement extracted from one of their own journals:—

"The Parisian Omnibus Company has preserved a curious relic of the late Commune in the shape of an omnibus which the Communists used for one of their barricades, and which was riddled through the street fights between the Versailles troops and the insurgents by as many as eight hundred shots or bomb-shell splinters. The coachman's box is broken, and only one wheel hangs on to the vehicle."

I have now given the agrÉmens and dÉsagrÉmens of coaching, and have come to the conclusion that all unprejudiced persons would prefer the rail to the road, especially those to whom time and money are objects. A man may now breakfast in London and dine in Dublin, and this journey can be performed at (as compared with former charges) a very considerable reduction.

Pullman's cars, now confined to the Midland, and partly to the Brighton line, will soon become universal. Then a night journey will be free from exertion, and after a good night's rest the traveller will find himself some hundred miles from the place of departure. Those, too, who indulge in "sublime tobacco," whether in the shape of a meerschaum, brier, clay pipe, a mild Havannah cigar, or a Latakia cigarette, can smoke in a covered carriage, instead as of old on the outside of a mail coach, amidst a pelting, pitiless storm. However, as tastes differ, there will always be a certain number of old stagers who, denouncing steam, will talk with rapture of the palmy days of the road, and of their delight when they went "coaching, a long time ago."

Railways were originally formed altogether of timber, and it was not until 1767 that the first experiment was tried, and that upon a very small scale, to determine the advantage of substituting iron for the less durable material. Nor does it appear that this experiment was successful, or followed by any practical result, for in 1797 Mr. Carr claimed to be considered the inventor of cast-iron rails.

The railways which were constructed up to the beginning of 1800 were all private undertakings, and each was confined to the use of the establishment—generally a colliery—in which it was employed. The public railways of the United Kingdom are strictly creations of the present century. Here I may remark that as early as the year 1216 the idea of applying the power of steam to locomotion first suggested itself. Roger Bacon, a Franciscan friar, who flourished during the reign of Henry III., foretold that ships would some day move without sails, and carriages without horses; and though his scientific researches were not duly appreciated in his own times, he may fairly take rank with the greatest pioneers of modern discovery.

In the days of Charles II., Edward Somerset, Earl of Glamorgan and Marquis of Worcester, invented and constructed the first steam-engine. His title to this honour has been the subject of dispute, some historians attributing to him a greater share of merit than there was sufficient evidence to warrant, while others deprive him of even that honour to which he possesses an indefeasible claim. Possessing inventive genius of the highest order, he was considered a mad enthusiast, because his speculations were advanced so far before the age in which he lived, and he has been set down as a quack and impostor by men incapable of comprehending the nature or appreciating the value of his creations.

The slow march of knowledge and of time has at last revealed the worth and established the character of an illustrious and unfortunate man of genius, who only lived to complete his mighty design and carry it happily into effect. Macaulay thus refers to the Marquis of Worcester:—

"The Marquis had observed the expansive power of moisture rarefied by heat. After many experiments, he had succeeded in constructing a rude steam-engine, which he called a fire-waterwork, and which he pronounced to be an admirable and most forcible instrument of propulsion."

But the Marquis was suspected to be a madman, and known to be a Papist, his inventions therefore found no favourable reception. His fire-waterwork might, perhaps, furnish matter for conversation at a meeting of the Royal Society, but was not applied to any practical purpose.

The next engine was invented by Captain Savery, in 1698, for the purpose of raising water by the help of fire. Newcomen came next, followed by James Watt.

And here I must pay a passing tribute to the inventive genius and wonderful discoveries of James Watt, to whom, perhaps, more than to any other man, the world is indebted for the beneficial results which have flown from the development of steam power.

Some six hundred years after Roger Bacon's prophecy, another prophet arose. In 1804, so writes a popular author, "George Stephenson was a poor labourer, his son Robert lying in his cradle; then the stage-coach dragged along its weary course at about five miles an hour, and a letter posted in London would reach Edinburgh perhaps in a week. In 1824 the father said to the son:—

"I tell you what I think, my lad. You will live to see the day, though I may not, when railroads will supersede all other modes of conveyance; when mail coaches will go by railway, and railways become the great highway for the King and his subjects. The time is coming when it will be cheaper for a working man to travel by railway than to walk on foot."

A bold, a daring, but a great social and patriotic prediction: both father and son lived to see it fulfilled. These wonderful changes have been brought about through the perseverance of a quintuple alliance—the Stephensons, Brunels, and Locke—of each of whom it may be said, if you seek his monument, "Look not at the place of his birth, his abode, or his death, but survey his works throughout the greater part of the habitable globe."

In 1824 the first locomotive constructed by George Stephenson travelled at the rate of six miles an hour; in 1829 the "Rocket" travelled at the rate of fifteen miles an hour, and obtained the prize of five hundred pounds offered by the directors of the Liverpool and Manchester Railway Company for the best locomotive.

In 1834 the "Firefly" attained a speed of twenty miles an hour; and at the present moment locomotives have increased their speed to over sixty miles an hour. Merciless ridicule attended the introduction of railway travelling; and in reference to a proposed line between London and Woolwich, a writer in the "Quarterly Review" not only backed "Old Father Thames" against it for any sum, but assured his readers that the people of Woolwich "would as soon suffer themselves to be fired off upon one of Congreve's ricochet rockets as trust themselves to the mercy of such a machine—a high-pressure engine, and going at the rate of eighteen miles an hour."

The reviewer adds that he trusts Parliament will limit the speed of railways to eight or nine miles an hour, which is as great as can be ventured upon with safety. Despite this prediction, the rail, as we all know, has proved a perfect success.

When railways were first proposed, in order to prove to Parliament that they would pay, persons called "traffic takers" were placed at the entrance of large towns to note down the traffic in and out of the town. When the Brighton and South Coast line was before the House of Commons, and evidence was given as to the existing traffic, the counsel for the company suggested that they might be allowed fairly to say that this would be doubled, when increased means of travelling were afforded. This seems ludicrous now, when probably one train of passengers and one of goods carries considerably more than the above estimate.

Many ineffectual attempts have been made to introduce steam-carriages on the roads, and in 1822 Mr. (afterwards Sir) Goldsworthy Gurney—inventor of the steam-jet, emphatically called by engineers "the life and soul of locomotion"—constructed a carriage for that purpose. To show that it was capable of ascending and descending hills, of maintaining a uniformity of speed over long distances and on different kinds of roads, a journey was undertaken from Hounslow Barracks to Bath and back. On arriving at Melksham, where a fair was being held, the people made an attack upon the steam-carriage, wounding the stoker and the engineer severely on their heads from a volley of stones. The return journey was more satisfactory, as the whole distance (eighty-four miles), stoppages for fire and water included, was travelled over in nine hours and twenty minutes, the carriage at one time increasing its speed to twenty miles an hour. The Duke of Wellington and his staff met the carriage at Hounslow Barracks, and were drawn in his Grace's barouche by the steam-engine into the town.

From February to June, 1831, steam-carriages ran between Gloucester and Cheltenham regularly four times a day, during which time they carried nearly three thousand persons and travelled nearly four thousand miles, without a single accident. Every obstacle, however, was thrown in the way of this new invention; large heaps of stones were laid across the road eighteen inches deep, under the pretence of repairing the highway; and on an Act of Parliament being passed which imposed prohibitory tolls on turnpike trusts, the steam-carriage was driven off the road.

On the journey to Bath above referred to, the toll for the steam-carriage was six guineas each time of passing. About this period Colonel Sir James Viney patronised a Mr. Pocock and the making of kites for the purpose of drawing a carriage, but these paper horses were ungovernable, particularly in a storm, and Sir John gave them up for a couple of ponies, which, in truth, were almost as wayward.

One conveyance alone remains to which I have not referred—the sedan chair, named after the town of Sedan, in France. In early days I well remember a very gorgeous specimen of the above, emblazoned with the family arms, which used to convey my mother to evening parties; and as late as the year 1834 I have often, at Leamington, Edinburgh, and Bath, made use of a sedan chair to take me to dinner. One advantage this conveyance had over a carriage was that, upon a snowy or rainy night, you could enter it under cover and get out of it in your Amphitryon's hall. Occasionally it was used by young spendthrifts against whom writs were out, as it enabled them to avoid the sheriff's officers. It was not always, however, a safe refuge, as Hogarth, in one of his prints, represents a tipstaff seizing hold of some debtor he was in search of.

Early in the present century a very clever caricature appeared, in which an Irishman was seen wending his way through dirt and slush, his legs and feet obtruding from a sedan chair—some waggish practical joker (the Theodore Hook of that day) having removed the bottom of it. Two stout chairmen, aware of the trick that had been played upon their inside passenger, are selecting the dirtiest streets, or most flinty part of the road, while the unfortunate Emeralder exclaims:

"Bedad! if it was not for the honour of the thing, I would as lief walk."

The costume of the chairmen at Bath was very peculiar: they wore long, light-blue coats highly ornamented with buttons about the size of a crown piece, the skirts of which reached down to their ankles; short "inexpressibles," white cotton stockings, shoes with buckles, and a huge cocked hat bound with gold lace. They were fine, powerful men, with calves to their legs which would have made the fortune of any fashionable footman. "When sedan-chairs were first introduced, a great feud arose between the chairmen and the hackney-coachmen, which led to many serious disturbances. The contest was carried on with the greatest bitterness; and the hatred it engendered was equal to that of the Montagues and Capulets, the Guelphs and the Ghibellines, the Red and White Roses; eventually, through the interference of the law, peace was restored.

Wilson thus refers to the sedan-chair named after Sedan on the Meuse. In his Life of James I., this passage, in speaking of the Earl of Northumberland, occurs: "The stout old Earl, when he was got loose (he had been imprisoned), hearing that the great favourite, Buckingham, was drawn about with a coach and six horses (which was wondered at then as a novelty, and imputed to him as a mastering pride), thought, if Buckingham had six, he might very well have eight in his coach; with which he rode through the city of London to Bath, to the vulgar talk and admiration; and, recovering his health there, he lived long after at Petworth in Sussex; bating this over-topping humour, which shewed it rather an affected fit than a distemper.

"Nor did this addition of two horses, by Buckingham, grow higher than a little murmur. For in the late Queen's time (Elizabeth), there were no coaches, and the First Lord had but two horses; the rest crept in by degrees, as men at first ventured to sea. And every new thing the people disaffect, they stumble at; sometimes at the action of the parties, which rises like a little cloud, but soon vanishes.

"So after, when Buckingham came to be carried in a chair upon men's shoulders, the clamour and noise of it was so extravagant that the people would rail on him in the streets, loathing that men should be brought to as servile a condition as horses; so irksome is every little new impression that breaks an old custom, and rubs and grates against the public humour; but when time had made those chairs common, every minion used them; so that that which gave at first so much scandal was the means to convey those privately to such places, where they might give much more. Just like long hair, at one time described as abominable—another time approved of as beautiful."